ld make up the--er--legend, 'Marvelous Man-Like
Monster," drawled Average Jones.

"Then you know the Farleys,"' said the print man.

"The Flying Farleys?" said Average Jones. "They used to do ascensions
with firework trimmings, didn't they? No; I don't exactly know them. But
I'd like to."

"That's another matter," retorted Mr. Hollins, annoyed at having
betrayed himself. "This type is decidedly a private--even a
secret-order. I had no right to say anything about it or the customers
who ordered it."

"Still, you could see that a letter left here for them reached them, I
suppose."

After some hesitation, the other agreed. Average Jones sat down to
the composition of an epistle, which should be sufficiently imperative
without being too alarming. Having completed this delicate task to his
satisfaction he handed the result to Hollins.

"If you haven't already struck off a line, you might do so," he
suggested. "I've asked the Farleys for a print of it; and I fancy
they'll be sending for one."

Leaving the shop he went direct to a telegraph office, whence he
dispatched two messages to Harwick. One was to the Reverend Peter
Prentice, the other was to the local chief of police. On the following
afternoon Mr. Prentice trembling in the anteroom of the Ad-Visor's. With
the briefest word of greeting Average Jones led him into his private
office, where a clear-eyed boy, with his head swathed in bandages
sat waiting. As the Ad-Visor closed the door after him, he heard the
breathless, boyish "Hello, father," merged in the broken cry of the
Reverend Peter Prentice.

Five minutes he gave father and son. When he returned to the room,
carrying a loose roll of reddish paper, he was followed by a strange
couple. The woman was plumply muscular. Her attractive face was both
defiant and uneasy. Behind her strode a wiry man of forty. His chief
claim to notice lay in an outrageously fancy waistcoat, which was
ill-matched with his sober, commonplace, "pepper-and-salt" suit.

"Mr. and Mrs. Farley, the Reverend Mr. Prentice," said Average Jones in
introduction.

"The strangers in the wagon?" asked the clergyman quickly.

"The same," admitted the woman briefly.

The Reverend Mr. Prentice turned upon Farley. "Why did you want to steal
my boy away?" he demanded.

"Didn't want to. Had to," replied that gentleman succinctly.

"Let's do this in order," suggested Average Jones. "The principal
actor's story first. Speak up, Bailey."

"D